The EightFold Path
by psycochick32
Summary: Miroku and Sango had finally found peace and happiness. Now an innocent piece of a not-so-innocent past has come back to haunt him, and he refuses to back down from his duty. Will he and Sango be able to retain the happiness they so rightfully deserve?
1. Unwelcome Surprises

Unwelcome Surprises

Miroku let out a deep sigh, slowly massaging his temples. _'This can't be happening.'_

After so many years of turmoil, fear and life-threatening battles, everything he ever wanted was his. His family's enemy was long dead and his curse vanquished. He had a beautiful, sinfully sexy wife who had birthed him three beautiful children. Even his best friend had a happy ending; Kagome had been back a year, giving Sango the friend she had so desperately missed.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

Miroku looked up, and stared at the small dark head peeking out of the blankets on the futon. If he didn't know any better, he would swear it was his and Sango's son sleeping so quietly… just a few years older.

He thanked every kami he could recall that Sango and his children were gathering herbs with Kagome. The young miko was a couple of months into her first pregnancy, and Sango had been doting on her almost as much as InuYasha. Miroku needed the extra time to figure out how to explain this to Sango…

He and InuYasha had strolled casually into the village that had sent for youkai exterminators. Kohaku had been last seen far in the east; too far to rush to this village's aid. Once peeled away from his wife, InuYasha had been itching for a good fight; Kagome had been increasingly moody and nothing but time would cure that. Miroku, lost in thought of how much he could haggle for slaying the oni, had only vaguely registered that he'd been to this village in the past, before meeting up with InuYasha, Kagome and Shippou.

The kill had been easy, much to InuYasha's displeasure, and Miroku had stepped forward to collect their reward when the headman had uttered the words that would forever change his future: "I'll give you nothing but the thing you should have been burdened with years ago."

A small, somewhat-underfed boy with Miroku's eyes and shockingly short brown hair (a little over five years old, if Miroku had to guess) was summoned curtly. "This is Haruo. He's yours," the headman spat out. "I lost my only daughter to this brat. You'll take him with you or you'll stay here, but either way, I won't be responsible for the little filth any longer."

Thinking hard, Miroku suddenly recalled the woman the headman spoke of: beautiful eyes and long, silky brown hair… she'd been the first virgin he'd slept with, and had come to him in the middle of the night.

Miroku had turned wide eyes to InuYasha, who stared at the child, sniffing tentatively. The look on the hanyou's face said it all: this child really was Miroku's.

Miroku refused to let the child remain in a home that obviously refused to feed him; stuck between a rock and a hard place (and a look from InuYasha, just daring him to leave the boy to a childhood so much like his own), Miroku nodded and reached out for the boy's hand.

For the first time in a long while, Miroku had hung back, wanting to return very slowly to the village. InuYasha understood, but was in quite the hurry; Miroku didn't blame him, he'd been the same way when Sango was pregnant with the twins.

Either way, he'd had limited time to debate how to spring this unwelcome surprise on Sango.

Laughter echoed from the doorway; a few moments later, two energetic girls bounced in the door, followed by Sango, their son in her arms. The noise from the twins woke Haruo, who sat with a start, pulling the blankets up to his eyes.

Confused, the twins turned from the boy to their father. Sango stared at the child, forcing a smile before looking her husband in the eyes.

"Miroku? Who's this?"

* * *

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Unwelcome Surprises" was originally posted April 2, 2009

Word Count: 637

Prompt: "Spring"


	2. Uncertainty

Uncertainty

The moment he saw that forced smile, he knew his luck wasn't about to turn around.

After sending the curious children, minus Haruo, back to Kagome and InuYasha's hut, Miroku jumped into the tale of what he knew and what he had only guessed.

She began fussing over the shy boy, commenting on the lingering bruises and serving him up some dinner, bemoaning how he was "simply flesh and bones." Miroku breathed a soft sigh of relief; he had feared, he admitted mentally, that she would shove the boy out. But Sango was a mother, first and foremost, and would never leave a child wanting.

He studied her face as he fell silent; his chest felt tight as he realized… there was nothing to see.

Miroku could have handled Sango's anger; he'd felt it many times. He could have dealt with tears, too, though each one would rip through his heart.

Hell, he would have happily accepted her feelings of betrayal, unfounded as they were, if it meant she was talking to him_._

But her eyes were empty. They recalled a time years ago, when she'd faced her brother, in the grip of Naraku's plans, and once again lost him. It was as though she didn't know what to think, or how to feel, and so had decided to forgo emotions and thoughts.

This time, though, she wouldn't even look at him.

Miroku's heart stuttered. He had feared losing his wife; but more importantly… had he lost his best friend?

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Uncertainty" was originally posted April 19, 2009

Word Count: 250

Prompt: "Friendship"


	3. Insight

Insight

That scar on her back was diamond-shaped, and he wondered why he'd never realized it before. _'More than twelve seasons together and I didn't see it?'_ Crouched in the bushes above the hot spring, he sat and wondered if that made him feel like any more of an asshole.

He had almost stopped going into the village after the first week. Most of the men there patted him on the back, congratulated him for having fathered an heir at such a young age. He'd turned into an idol among the men in the village and he hated every second of it. In the second week, after seeing Sango's subdued manner, others had encouraged him for "showing Sango her place" – while her efforts to protect the village she now lived in were more than welcome, the fact that she did so while also living the life of a wife disgusted most of the men, who felt belittled being saved by a mother of three (_'now four,'_ he corrected himself).

The comments and congratulations sickened him. From what Kagome said, he was far ahead of his time – perhaps it was because he had traveled with her on a deadly quest before settling down, but Miroku had always seen Sango as a companion, a teammate… a friend, in addition to a gorgeous woman. He refused to see her as an object, as a piece of property.

Miroku wished he could hear what the women were saying. From his angle, it looked like tears were streaming down Sango's face… but she'd been so strong the past three weeks, it was hard to believe. Shoulders back, head held high, Sango went about her business calmly, though she still spoke to him little, and Miroku's palms were beginning to itch; he hadn't touched her luscious body since bringing Haruo home.

Miroku had just begun to crawl closer to the edge when his vision was flooded with fire-bright red… he trailed his vision up. _'Oh… shit.'_ InuYasha glared down at him, one dark eyebrow quirked. It was obvious how little he was thinking when he was unable to respond smoothly. "I'm not looking at Kagome!" Miroku blurted out loudly, before cringing and clamping a hand over his mouth.

"Feh," InuYasha scoffed, twitching an ear in the direction of the springs, "Knock it off; they didn't hear ya'." He leveled an intense stare at Miroku before continuing, "And I _know_ you weren't lookin' at Kagome. There's nothing to see, she's just soakin' her feet."

Miroku's eyes widened. He'd been so deep in thought contemplating Sango he hadn't even noticed. "What are you doing here?" Miroku asked, hoping to get the conversation away from him before InuYasha started down that train of thought. The hanyou still was fairly quiet (when he wasn't killing things) but had loosened up with Kagome at his side.

"Protecting my mate, baka," InuYasha responded. "What are _you_ doing out here?"

Miroku thought about lying. He thought about adopting the lecherous, flippant attitude he had used as a mask while on Naraku's trail to hide his terror that the kazaana would suck him and his friends in. But he needed information too badly.

"I wanted… no, _need_ to hear what they're saying," Miroku muttered, knowing InuYasha would hear. "Sango won't talk to me. I-I…" Miroku sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't know what's upsetting her."

InuYasha's startled look clearly stated, 'You've-got-to-be-kidding-me.' Miroku shook his head. "No, I mean, I know what started everything," he leveled a glare at the hanyou. "I'm not that stupid. I just don't know… what about the whole situation is hurting her. Has she talked to Kagome about it?"

InuYasha's eyes narrowed, "Yes, bouzu, she has. And if she upsets the wench one more time, I'm not going to be all _sensitive_ like Kagome told me to and I'm going to kick her out of my hut. Kagome's pregnant and doesn't need her shit on top of our own." He gazed over his shoulder in the direction of the springs. "C'mere. And for fuck's sake, be quiet." InuYasha considered for another moment before adding, "And you didn't see this from me. Or hear anything. In fact, leave me the fuck out of it or I'll tell Sango what you told me a month before your wedding."

Miroku nodded vigorously, eyes wide.

The monk followed the hanyou as quietly as he could humanly manage through the rock- and brush-strewn hills before coming across a rocky, sandy section. Miroku realized he could hear Kagome's soft voice through a wide crack in the rocks closest to the hot spring. He gasped as he peered though to get a perfect view of Sango's rounded ass. _'Thank Buddha… I could almost reach out and touch her.'_

His growing arousal wilted as he realized she _was_ crying.

"He wouldn't do that, Sango," Kagome insisted.

"I just don't know anymore, Kagome." She sniffled, slapping at the water as though it offended her. "I mean, they supposedly only had _one_ night together and she bore him a son. He always wanted an heir, and our first children were twin girls." Sango sighed, "Perfect for the large family I want. Nowhere near the heir he always talked about."

"You _did_ give him a son," Kagome reminded, before adding, "And he wanted an heir back when he was fighting the kazaana and Naraku. Now it's not as much a problem."

Sango made a non-committal noise, sinking back under the water almost right under Miroku's nose. "He…" here, Sango sounded embarrassed, and splashed at the water before forging ahead. "He keeps trying to touch me. And I just keep thinking of _them_. I can't help it and I don't know why… but it makes me angry and then Haruo's there and it just makes it worse."

Kagome hummed sorrowfully, but pulled herself back as Sango leapt to her feet. "I'm a horrible person, Kagome! I'm trying so hard to be a good mother but he's not even mine and all I can think sometimes is how much I wish he were back where he was born! But they treated him awfully, and I can't think of it for long because," Sango choked, "b-b-because he… he makes me think of Kohaku. He even looks like Kohaku at that age."

"Sit back down," Kagome said softly, "or you'll catch a cold." Sango slipped back underwater, sighing a little as the tension drained from her shoulders. "You're still angry," Kagome pointed out after a moment of silence. "There's something else that's worrying you."

Miroku was impressed. Kagome had truly grown up in her years back home; she had become more perceptive and, if it were possible, even more caring.

Sango was silent.

"You can't let this fester in you," Kagome prodded. "You don't have to tell me… or Miroku. But you have to tell somebody, or yell it to the trees. If you keep thinking about it, it's going to get worse. You'll think about it more and more and you'll be angrier and angrier or more hurt and soon it'll affect everybody around you."

Sango remained silent.

Kagome sighed, then forced a smile. "Come on, we should head back before InuYasha comes looking for me." The miko slipped on her sandals and was about to gather her items when Sango broke the silence.

"He-" She stopped, cleared her throat. This was clearly hard for her to say. "The night we… after we were married," Sango clarified, looking relieved when Kagome nodded. "He told me that he'd been with other women. I just… I never thought he'd have a child already."

"He obviously didn't, either," Kagome pointed out.

Sango nodded absently, going silent for so long it appeared she had forgotten Kagome was there. Staring up at the sky when she finally spoke, her voice was a mere whisper; as though she were confiding in the stars.

"But... I'm afraid. What if there are more?"

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Insight" was originally posted May 14, 2009

Word Count: 1,323

Prompt: "Stars"


	4. Revelations

Revelations

"Slay! Slay!" The twins had taken after their mother, Miroku mused, when it came to their agility. They chased Shippou around happily, only stumbling occasionally.

"Why don't you go play, Haruo?" Kagome suggested softly to the boy who sat among the adults, watching and cheering when the youkai escaped unscathed. Haruo turned to look at Miroku, who nodded his permission.

Haruo stood and flashed a bright grin, running toward one of the girls, who shrieked and giggled, taking off in the opposite direction. Her twin looked as though she was going to come to the rescue when Haruo lifted one hand and shouted, "Fwooosh! Wooooosh!"

Miroku blanched, apparently doing some rapid calculation before he buried his face in his hands. Sango gaped.

"The hell?" InuYasha murmured, eyeing the kid and the monk in turn. "Oi, Haruo! C'mere!" The young boy moved back quickly, looking as though he thought he had done something wrong.

"What were you doing with your hand?" Kagome asked.

Haruo shifted uneasily, looking at his hand and replying, "Ojii-sama said my hand was broked when I was born. He wanted me to go away because it-" Haruo gulped, obviously afraid of admitting anything further.

"What did your Ojii-san tell you?" Sango asked gently, studying the pallor of Miroku's face and wondering if she really wanted to know the answer.

Haruo stared at the ground, scuffling his feet. Speaking so softly all but InuYasha had to strain to hear, he muttered, "Ojii-sama said my hand eated my mama."

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Revelations" was originally posted May 24, 2009

Word Count: 250

Prompt: "Surprise"


	5. Tainted View

Tainted View

Purples and blues tinted the sky; red clouds bled into it, slipping away to reveal the first few sparkling evening stars.

The beauty and tranquility was lost on the man who stood on the balcony, staring at the nearby river pensively, unaware of everything but the turbulent thoughts that ricocheted in his mind like so many salmon, each trying to swim up a raging river of horrible memories and half-truths.

"Your thoughts pain you. If you hold it in much longer, you will be lost to dukkha."

Miroku sighed and hung his head, unwilling to respond. It hadn't been his plan, to travel to Mushin's temple, but Sango insisted they go. After all, Mushin was the closest to family Miroku had (other than his own, of course), and should know Miroku had a second son. He'd seen the hopeful look in her eye as she suggested it; Sango obviously knew something was troubling him and hoped he'd open up during the journey.

Her hopes went in vain.

Mushin stood at Miroku's shoulder, eyes looking over the horizon as he avoided saying anything. He took a deep, long swig from the sake bottle… and remained silent.

For a moment, Miroku almost chuckled, comparing Mushin to InuYasha. Both were able to say more in their silence than in any number of words, able to wait out their intentions with the utmost patience. Both were important to him, like family… and both knew what tainted his heart and soul.

Silence prevailed for a short while, during which the sunset darkened into night. Eventually, Miroku gave in. "My thoughts pain me, but my actions pain others. My curse claimed another victim; one I was unaware of and have not had a chance to honor or mourn."

"The young boy's mother," Mushin supposed. Miroku nodded his head jerkily. "I suspected when I saw his age that he may have been born before Naraku was destroyed."

"It wasn't fair of me," Miroku gritted out, clenching the railing tightly. "I stole an innocent life for a single night of pleasure. I killed a woman who innocently offered herself freely to me. I may as well have shoved a blade through her heart." He let out a low chuckle, one out of character for any who thought they knew him well.

Mushin was unfazed. "The truth, boy, is there if you look hard enough for it."

"Truth?" Miroku spun to face his mentor. "I know the truth! I killed my mother barely moments out of the womb! I broke my vows to never put another woman in that position!" He slumped to the wood floor. "All your efforts were useless. When I was old enough to hunt Naraku, I forsook your teachings and the ways of Buddha and did anything necessary to expedite his death."

Miroku's carefully constructed façade melted in the face of the man who had raised him. "Why now? Why, when things have been going so perfectly? _Why_?"

Mushin exhaled slowly – less than a sigh, more than a breath, and only a noise Miroku had heard him make once: when Miroku's father had lost himself to his kazaana and left only Mushin to care for the young boy. The old man repeated what he had said then, as he had dried Miroku's tears.

"It is not our place to question Buddha or our karma. We can only find the path to truth through overcoming what is put in our place and coming out the better for it. If you allow dukkha to overwhelm you, you will not know truth."

With that, Mushin patted Miroku on the shoulder and left. Miroku looked back out over the river, a smirk reminiscent of InuYasha on his face. For an old drunk, Mushin certainly did have his moments.

"Miroku?"

Jerked out of his thoughts by his wife's tentative query, Miroku spun and reached out to his wife. Nearly five years after they met and he still loved everything about her… him, the lech and ladies' man, clinging to a single woman like she was his sanity!

"It's quiet," Sango murmured, taking his hand as she walked up to the railing and leaned on it slightly. "I'm so used to having the children around…"

Miroku nodded shortly, lacing his fingers with hers. The girls and their son had stayed behind this time, remaining under Rin and Kaede's more-than-competent care.

"Haruo's asleep," she informed him softly, picking at her apron with her free hand. Miroku could only nod again as he braced himself for what he knew was coming. "I heard you with Mushin. You…" She gulped before obviously forcing herself to look at him. "What did you mean?"

Miroku nodded, looking away. "You mean about my mother?" Sango made a noise of assent and he groaned, rubbing the back of his head. Usually it meant he was thinking up an explanation for some mischief he had incited. Now, he was just trying to figure out where to start.

"The kazaana… was a terrible curse. Those drawn into the kazaana are killed, but… I recall their screams as they are drawn in. Remember how easily a large oni was sucked into my hand and think about what that would do to the creature." His eyes closed in pain and he could feel the chill of her hand on his cheek. He neither leaned into it nor pulled away – he did not deserve the comfort, but if it would make her feel better…

"The kazaana was there at birth for all men in our lines. My father had an older sister who was born without the curse. She ran screaming from him at birth after the tiny kazaana in his hand slowly sucked up my grandmother. Only my grandfather's quick actions kept the curse from expanding there; an infant's hand is so tiny that had the hole ripped at all, it would have sucked him in and I would never have been born."

He fell silent, contemplating what had happened. "My father learned from a young age what the curse could do. When he fell in love with my mother, he tried to keep from having children. She insisted and, I can only assume by forcing drink upon him, eventually carried me. He insisted on being there when I was born but they had been traveling and the miko at the temple where I was born refused to allow it."

Sango's hitched breath caught in his ear and he forced himself to look at her. "I killed her. I killed my mother with my bare hand and would have taken the miko, too, had my father not fought his way into the room. I feared something similar had happened to Haruo but had hoped he would have been born just after Naraku's death. Instead, he will carry this burden, as well…"

"No!" Sango stood, angrily. "I will not allow it. Such nonsense will never, ever be repeated near that boy's ears. He has nothing to feel guilty about; this is not _his_ fault."

Miroku cringed as he stared into her eyes and realized that all of her anger... was directed at him. For a moment, he thought she might do... something. But instead he watched her whirl on the ball of her foot and stalk away with fists white-knuckled and forcibly held at her side.

As she stalked away, Miroku realized this was the first time he had ever been alone – truly alone, to the depths of his soul – in years.

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Tainted View" was originally posted June 16, 2009

Word Count: 1,249

Prompt: "Hold"


	6. A Different View

A Different View

Sango sat in a patch of moonlight by the waterfall, glaring at it as though she could will the water to stop. But after a moment, her frame sagged; as though he weight of her heavy feelings had defeated her.

He wondered what she was thinking… and for the first time since they'd married, he wondered if she would tell him if he asked.

Hanging his head and deciding if she didn't tell him it was his fault anyway, he finally worked up the courage to go sit next to her. They sat in silence for what felt like months – years – eons… until Miroku finally capitulated.

"I'm sorry, San-"

"No." She held up a hand and his eyes met hers. "No. Don't apologize to me when you don't even know _why_."

Miroku cocked his head, silently asking her to explain.

"It is not Haruo's fault that his mother died. It is not your fault… or your father's… that yours died, either. The fault is Naraku's."

Miroku nodded, but his reluctance to believe his amazing wife must have shown on his face. Her eyes hardened and she shook her head. "If you believe it was your fault… if you blame that beautiful, innocent child… then you've been lying to me all along." Miroku's eyes widened in confusion.

Tears sprung to her eyes as she continued, "If it was Haruo's fault… then it was Kohaku's fault he killed father and the others. It was nothing anybody could control. It's the same thing."

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"A Different View" was originally posted June 16, 2009

Word Count: 250

Prompt: "Father"


	7. Scattered Thoughts

Scattered Thoughts

Sango finally slept, somehow oblivious to (or perhaps simply understanding of) the feelings racing through Miroku's head. The noisy, unwanted thoughts – truths and lies and what they meant for his life – chased each other as InuYasha had once pursued Shippou after a particularly deceptive interaction. Miroku believed, upon further reflection, that his current line of thought would have a similarly painful and unresolved ending.

"_If you hold it in much longer, you will be lost to dukkha."_

Dukkha… The old drunkard had often attempted to speak with Miroku about his mother. Miroku had declined each time; though he never stated it explicitly, Miroku never truly felt he had a right to speak of the woman who died bringing him into the world. Dukkha-dukkha… pain-of-pain, pain of death... of his mother's death. He'd come to terms with his father's demise. Miroku had avenged his father by assisting in killing Naraku, by putting Kagome and InuYasha on the correct path.

Dukkha-dukkha. Miroku sighed. Pain-of-pain… if he persisted of the wrong path, he _would_ be lost to dukkha, as Mushin had said. But what right did he have to grieve the woman he killed – to release the tension, the guilt of taking a woman's life?

Sango groaned and shifted, drawing Miroku's attention from his tortuous thoughts. Even in sleep Sango guarded Haruo as fiercely as one of their own, an arm firmly wrapped around his son with her hand balled into a fist. The boy's hand, so much smaller, was fisted right next to hers.

Haruo's right hand…

"_I killed my mother with my bare hand…"_

He had admitted the truth to Sango, and she'd refused to see it as fact. Perhaps his wording could have been better chosen, he admitted… killing somebody with bare hands implied a gruesome death, filled with blood and gore and violence. But having one's body compacted via magical force to fit through a hole roughly the size of three needle tips was certainly no picnic.

"_If it was Haruo's fault… then it was Kohaku's fault he killed father and the others."_

That was a lie if he'd ever heard one. The situations were not even remotely similar! Kohaku had been controlled; Naraku had literally forced Kohaku's hand. _'I may not have chosen to kill mother,'_ Miroku thought mulishly, _'but the fact of the matter is that had I not been born, she would still be alive.'_ He ignored the whisper in the back of his head that said his mother had plied his father for the seed that brought him into fruition. His mother had taken the first step toward her death willingly in the hopes of bearing the husband she loved an heir.

"_He told me that he'd been with other women. I just… I never thought he'd have a child already."_

His eyes remained focused on where Sango lay, wrapped snugly around the child whom anybody would believe was hers. She claimed Haruo as hers to others, refused to hear otherwise. Was there a more understanding woman on the face of the planet? He'd seen what jealousy wrought in a woman: anger, sadness, dangerous rages and heartbreaking tears.

He should have known she'd handle the situation so much differently than Kagome had dealt with InuYasha's previous love. Of course, there was no woman for Sango to compete with… just the results of what still felt, in his heart, like an infidelity even though the event had occurred months before he'd met the beautiful taijya.

"_The truth, boy, is there if you look hard enough for it."_

Miroku snorted as fragments of Mushin's insistent speech rattled through his skull. _'Meddling old man,'_ he mulishly mused. _'What does he know?'_ Truth… Kagome had always bandied a phrase in the time of their journey…

Oh, yes. "The truth will set you free." Miroku rolled his eyes, free in the darkness, away from prying friends and family alike, to throw off the cloak of the wise and compassionate and share his true feelings… ones he tried to hide from even the woman closest to him.

After all, what was the truth but another interpretation of a lie? Miroku was the master of deciphering fact from fiction. He was a monk by trade but a conman by nature; he was well aware that truth wore many masks and could be used for many purposes.

There was only one truth to the conversations he'd held with Sango that night, though.

He had, in fact, killed his mother… and was directly responsible for the death of a young woman who had no idea what to expect come the birth of her first –and only – child. Worse, the guilt of that would haunt him the rest of his life.

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Scattered Thoughts" was originally posted July 17, 2009

Word Count: 786

Prompt: "Lies"

A/N: This fic was nominated at the Feudal Association for both Best Drama and Best Romance: Alt Pairing. It came in second for the first and tied for first for the latter and I'd love to thank everybody who voted.

"Eight-Fold Path" has also been nominated for numerous awards at Eikyuu Kosai (the Mir/San pairing awards) and the InuYasha Fan Guild. Thank you for the nominations! Eikyuu Kosai's voting has begun – seconding at the IYFG begins July 26.


	8. Closer To Home

Closer To Home…

The sounds of tears, of shouting – of generally unhappy children drew Miroku from his ongoing funk. He stifled a curse as he realized the cries were coming from the direction of the field where his daughters often played under Shippou's careful watch.

Miroku had just gotten to his feet when the girls raced through the trees; one in tears… and the other with her face set remarkably like her mother's at her most dangerous. The two rushed inside to where Sango sat.

The girls safe, Miroku turned to search for Haruo. He didn't have far to look. Just down the path, the child leaned against a pair of red-clad legs, tears dripping down his cheeks.

With a look of thanks to InuYasha, Miroku hugged Haruo close. "What happened?" he questioned.

"They don' like me," Haruo mumbled. "They said," he sniffled, "'m not fambly."

Miroku sighed and rubbed his son's back lightly, trying to figure out what to say. He was so deep in thought he almost missed Haruo's muffled admission, "Wanna real fambly…"

"I know, Haruo… and we're your family now. We love you."

Later that night, it was obvious the girls were still upset with their half-brother.

"I did the same to Kohaku when we were young. They're just jealous," Sango explained quietly. "After all, we left them with Kaede and Rin and took Haruo to visit Mushin."

Miroku grew silent, wondering when he had begun overlooking such details… and felt a new wave of guilt wash over him.

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Closer To Home…" was originally posted April 2, 2009

Word Count: 250

Prompt: "Jealousy"

Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha or any other characters from the anime/manga. They all belong to Rumiko Takahashi. I just play with them


	9. Battling Demons

Battling Demons

Miroku rolled what he expected would eventually be a shoulder pad over his fingers. _'Blue. Interesting color choice.'_ He vaguely wondered what type of leather the pads were made of, how the dye was made… how the color on the armor detailing was decided; he'd left on a youkai slaying expedition with InuYasha (_'probably the last one until Kagome goes into labor,'_ he mused in the back of his head) and come back to find… all this.

---

"_What?" Miroku gaped at Sango in a mixture of confusion and concern._

"_You heard me, husband," Sango said, a hint of steel in her voice. "Haruo expressed a wish to be 'like Kohaku,' I believe were his exact words. He's built strongly and will make a fine taijya." Her look dared the monk to refute her decision._

_Miroku's jaw flapped weakly. _'Only Sango can truly make me speechless.'_ Finally marshalling his thoughts, he knew he should test the waters before jumping in. His beautiful wife was rightly proud of her heritage and he didn't want to seem as though he were questioning her judgment._

_But…_

"_Isn't he a bit too young yet to decide what he wants with his life?" Miroku suggested, eyeing the tiny quarterstaff Kohaku was smoothing out at the edge of the field._

_Sango shook her head, motioning to where he played with his reluctant adoptive sisters. "Not at all. Look at him, Miroku. He moves smoothly on his feet already. At home, father began training those who showed promise even earlier."_

_The girls shrieked and ducked as the boy spun to chase Kirara, laughing as though the argument about his worth as a brother was long forgotten. Knowing the children, it actually may have been – at least for the time being._

_Miroku realized he was holding his breath as Sango playfully elbowed him in the stomach. "Relax, Miroku. It's not like we're going to give him a sword and throw him in front of a panther youkai. He has years of training ahead of him… and if he decides he doesn't like it, then he'll be no worse the wear." Nodding as though everything had been decided (it had, Miroku realized… while he was away!) she moved to go prepare dinner._

_Miroku moved his gaze back to Kohaku. The boy still had that look his in eyes – the haunted look, as though he were still fighting demons nobody but he could see._

'How well I know that feeling.'

---

Miroku set aside the armor as his focus turned back to the present; he sighed, running a smooth hand over the staff so similar and yet so different to his own…

'_Similar and yet not… is that what my son's life will be?'_ It hit Miroku like lightning then, the differences between Haruo's life and his. Miroku had grown following in his father's footsteps, as his father had followed in his grandfather's. But that battle was ended. That fight was over. There was no reason for Haruo to face the same childhood Miroku had.

His son would not know the threat of death clinging to his very hand. His son would not fear curse or failure to continue a doomed blood-line…

And if Sango had her way (_'And she always does,'_ Miroku thought ruefully), Haruo would not know the pain, the guilt, the torment of knowing he'd killed a woman with his bare hand.

Haruo would move forward… and be strong without the guilt guiding him.

For a moment cold, hard jealousy gripped Miroku. Then it eased… slipped into something a bit more comfortable.

Perhaps… perhaps if his son, troublesome though his short life had already been, could look to the future with nothing more than wonder and hope…

Perhaps he could, too.

---

"_The Eight-Fold Path"_ is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Battling Demons" was originally posted August 14, 2009

Word Count: 624

Prompt: "Blue"

Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha or any other characters from the anime/manga. They all belong to Rumiko Takahashi. I just play with them


	10. His Best Shot

His Best Shot

Miroku grinned. _'Okay, so maybe Sango knew what she was talking about. He's a natural!'_

Haruo was light on his feet; a quick study, he was becoming rather proficient with his bo – cut to fit his growing stature, of course. Sango believed if the boy followed through on his lessons, he could wield a naginata exceedingly well and was already plotting how to get Totosai to forge one of youkai bone.

Being skilled with his own shakujou, Miroku threw himself into passing on the arts to his son. For the first time since Haruo had come into his life, he felt… free. Miroku had a very InuYasha-like smirk on his face as his son worked his way through the movements.

The child spun, swinging the bo downward in a move to throw Miroku's center of gravity off, and then came at him from the other side mid-level. Had Miroku not been so much larger, the move might have actually worked.

Miroku was filled with a rush of pride and closed his eyes to better revel in the feeling. A feeling quickly taken over by the feeling of nausea as he fell to his knees… brought to the ground by a below-the-belt blow that briefly had him wondering if he was destined for only two sons and two daughters.

Sango's laughter rang out. Miroku could just make out her words over his groaning and Haruo's stunned, "Are you alright?"

"Ha! Haruo, that's your luckiest shot yet!"

---

A/N: The response to The Eight-Fold Path at the IYFG last quarter blew me away. The story placed first in the "Romance: Miroku/Sango" category, second in "Canon" and "Serial."

Thank you to anybody who voted!

"_The Eight-Fold Path"_ is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"His Best Shot" was originally posted August 30, 2009

Word Count: 245

Prompt: "Luck"


	11. Calm Before the Storm

Calm Before the Storm

Haruo lay dead to the world, snuggled between his sisters.

Sango knelt over their oldest, tucking him against the growing cold.

Miroku watched from under heavy lids, pulled from meditation from the sound… of nothing. A rare sound, this was not the silence of repressed anger or the heavy weight of sorrow.

This was the caress of contentment.

There was something on its way… something foreboding, something dangerous. InuYasha had been on edge, torn between investigation and remaining with the heavily-pregnant Kagome.

In time, they'd be on the road.

But for now, they were content. That was enough for him.

---

A/N: My very first "perfect drabble" – ha! The wordy one _can_ do it!

"_The Eight-Fold Path"_ is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Calm Before the Storm" was originally posted September 15, 2009

Word Count: 100

Prompt: "Quiet"


	12. Following Life

Following Life's Path

It was silent. _'Too silent,'_ Miroku mused, recalled the feeling he'd had days ago. Yet no unknown youki pinged against his aura; extermination requests were delivered to Kaede, or picked up by InuYasha's ears.

There were no distractions.

Miroku could only sit, stare at the darkening sky, and wonder if his son's curious nature came from him or his mother. He could remember being willing to learn in his youth - being naturally inquisitive (or "nosy," to quote the few fleeting memories he had of his father) often got him into situations rife with opportunity for spoils.

Not to mention the opportunity to run for his life… be it from youkai or angry lord.

Ah well, one took the good with the bad and hoped the former outweighed the latter.

Now, Miroku was starting to believe his son would be set on a similar path, unless curbed. He peeked at his adoptive mother in the tub (she was not impressed), followed InuYasha around like a puppy (which amused Miroku to no end), and asked his father rather surprisingly deep questions. Like…

'_Why do we hunt youkai?'_

The question had resonated in Miroku's skull since Haruo had fired it off at dinner. He and Sango had stared at each other helplessly over the fire pit. Haruo had continued, obviously having thought about it for a while. He'd pointed out that Shippou and Kirara were youkai and nobody hunted them. InuYasha was hanyou, and he wasn't being hunted (apparently, the child was still oblivious to InuYasha's past… as well any boy his age should be) or targeted.

So why hunt youkai?

Mushin's lessons resonated on the feet of Haruo's question in his brain; the lessons on "Right Action." Miroku wouldn't kid himself: he'd never walked the path of "Right Action." He'd lain with many women, living in the moment, believing he could die at any time. He'd taken what was possible to live the greatest life he could under the circumstances, again convinced that he should not die an unhappy man.

And he'd taken more than his share of lives.

How to explain this to his son? Sango had looked exceedingly unhappy as she tried to describe the differences between evil and good youkai. Haruo had countered her explanation, asking about the families and motivations of the youkai taijya killed each day. What if _they_ had a family they were supporting? What if _they_ were avenging family?

Miroku had to concede his son was much too smart for his age.

'_Do not harm others except in self-defense.'_

Self-defense. What constituted self-defense? Sango had eventually ended up sending Haruo to bed, promising Miroku would talk about it with him in the morning.

Hence his sitting on a hill, trying to rationalize what he and his wife did for a living. Kagome said she never felt youki in her time. Well, what had once been her time. Did he and Sango play a role in that?

Could… they have killed an entire race of creatures? The thought was disturbing. He knew Sango was proud of her heritage. He knew he felt justified in his killings.

He just didn't know if he could continue… either the killings or this train of thought. One had to end. His teachings said that to reach nirvana, one had to follow the correct path.

The correct path was not spattered with life's blood…was it?

Could he cut hunting youkai out of his life?

And could he convince his wife to?

---

A/N:

"_The Eight-Fold Path"_ is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Following Life's Path" was originally posted October 9, 2009

Word Count: 583

Prompt: "Cut"


	13. Lines Drawn

Lines Drawn

Sango was not amused.

Miroku retreated quickly – both literally and figuratively – hands in front of his face. "I'm not necessarily saying I want things to end! After all, it's how I -" he gulped at the fire leaping in her eyes and hastened to correct himself, "-we keep the family fed!"

She nodded, mood easing, and he jumped to continue. "I'm just saying that I think it's something we need to think about, to discuss. If anything, we need to know how we should explain it to our children!"

"There are good youkai and bad youkai," Sango said, obviously repeating what her father had told her, and what her father's father had told him. "Good youkai, like good people, we leave in peace. If need be, we protect ourselves and others from bad youkai and people. It's that simple," she continued; as though speaking to a child.

"I took him in, Houshi-sama," she continued quietly. He cringed at the title. It wasn't a matter of respect – had never been meant as such, except the first calling, before he first caressed her – but was a way of separating herself from him.

Sango took a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. "I am proud to teach him the ways of my people." Her voice unintentionally began to rise again. "But it is not too much to ask that you respect that. If you wish to follow your path, I will not stop you. "Just," her tone was chilly, "don't stop me."

---

A/N:

"_The Eight-Fold Path"_ is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Lines Drawn" was originally posted October 22, 2009

Word Count: 250

Prompt: "Fold"


	14. The Right Path

The Right Path

Miroku traveled to the neighboring village happily; for the first time in weeks, he felt as though his life was headed in the right direction.

Haruo had continued to pepper Sango with questions, trying honestly to understand the taijya lifestyle; seeing he was truly interested and not trying to stir up trouble, Sango answered as clearly as possible. But Haruo had apparently inherited his father's ability to twist words around and Sango seriously seemed to be at the end of her rope.

To make matters worse, Miroku and InuYasha had been requested for a youkai extermination two villages over.

Miroku cringed to himself as he recalled the look on Sango's face. He'd feared, for a moment, that she was seconds away from taking Hiraikotsu from the wall and re-introducing him to the weapon. Painfully.

She'd forced an accepting smile… that had made him feel even worse. Then Haruo began questioning him… and asked if he could come along.

"Absolutely not." The glint in Sango's eye was fearful, protective… and stemmed from, Miroku knew, the day her life had been turned upside-down and nearly taken from her by her own flesh and blood.

Miroku had to admit he was surprised at her vehemence. She'd seemed so irritated with Haruo that he'd briefly entertained the notion she'd be happy for the respite, despite the boy's young age.

It was at that moment that Miroku realized what he had told his son all those weeks ago was true…

Though she hadn't birthed him, hadn't raised him to this point – Sango was Haruo's mother. She cared for him like her own; she would protect him with her life just as quickly as the twins and their youngest.

Haruo really was family.

And for the first time in a long while, Miroku felt at peace.

---

A/N:

"_The Eight-Fold Path"_ is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Lines Drawn" was originally posted November 20, 2009

Word Count: 300

Prompt: "Path"


	15. It Begins

It Begins…

_Crack!_

The sudden sound silenced the children's laughter, the calm conversation between Sango, Miroku, InuYasha and Kagome.

InuYasha's ears twitched, turning toward the noise. It echoed through the trees before ringing out again, again, and a fourth time.

Kagome's eyes were wide. InuYasha's nose worked overtime; Miroku went deathly still.

Sango turned to her husband. "Miroku? Do you know what made that noise?"

Miroku's thoughts flitted back to a crazed zombie, intent on sex and death in whichever order… Miroku shuddered, dislodging Sango's hand from his shoulder. She looked on questioningly. "Miroku! What _was_ that?"

"Guns," Kagome responded.

"Soldiers tried to use them on Jakotsu," Miroku informed Sango; she'd been chasing her brother at the time.

Sango suddenly recalled the sight of them from when a patrol of men stopped by the village to have Kaede look at an injury. One had ignited and torn skin from a man's hand. She'd never seen one before; taijiya used traditional weapons.

"Who'd be shooting... guns here?" Sango asked, beckoning her children inside. Kagome held her daughter close; InuYasha and Miroku stood protectively in front of the women, tense for conflict.

Miroku shifted uneasily, "I've heard of a recent outbreak of violence against youkai. Our village welcomes Shippou…"

"War?"

"Perhaps."

Kagome and InuYasha retreated to their hut. Sango wrapped her arms around Miroku.

"We'll be safe, won't we?" She didn't give him a chance to respond before laying moving closer. "We won't let anything happen to them… I won't let you leave me."

---

A/N:

"_The Eight-Fold Path"_ is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"It Begins…" was originally posted December 15, 2009 for the "noise" prompt.

Word Count: 250


	16. Aftermath

Aftermath

_Screaming, shouting, grunting, crackling, wailing –_

_-silence-_

Firelight flickered off her wakizashi, and she pushed that thought into the back of her mind.

If she thought about it, she wouldn't be able to stand it – her family, her _home_… "up in smoke" as Kagome would say.

Sango brought the man to his knees with a well-placed strike; her training hadn't dulled, she'd realize later, because she'd severed the muscles in the back of his legs without looking.

It was hard to see through the tears streaming down her face.

Miroku, she'd learned later, managed to chase the last man away into the woods. At the moment, she only heard his receding cussing, his oaths to return to finish the job.

_-drip, drip, drip-_

Crimson tears followed the edge of her blade; salty tears carved paths down her cheeks. Her shoulders heaved – not with exertion, but sobs as horrifying silence –broken only by the _snap_ of burning timber fell upon the clearing.

There were no more screams – no more signs of life from the wreckage that had been their home.

All the skills in the world… years of training on and off the battlefield, ages of learning traps and stalking, years of tracking the patter of tiny feet through the forest… could not have saved her youngest, trapped behind a wall of flame with nobody free to save him.

His screams would haunt her for years to come.

Shippou had been by the day before; they'd welcomed him despite the dangerous rumors flickering past their ears of vengeful men hunting youkai and those who called such creatures "friend."

They'd defeated the likes of Naraku; what did they fear of men?

Weeks later, forcing herself to return and face the memories and reality of the deadly day, she would see signs of where the men had rested, watching… plotting their assault.

_Shouting, raging, cursing –_

He was gone.

Her child. The one son she'd borne Miroku; his pride and joy snuffed out in a tower of smoke.

InuYasha – the one creature that could have withstood the onslaught of men, weaponry and heat to save her son – had been gone a fortnight, Kagome and their infant traveling alongside to take Rin to Sesshoumaru's mother's castle.

The danger was too strong for the taiyoukai to ignore. He refused to let his ward remain in danger.

Where to now? They could not remain with Mushin forever. The man was a joy, but a drunkard. An old shrine was no place to raise children… was no place to bring the violence that would inevitably follow them.

They could not run; she wanted to refuse to hide. Sango dreamed of bringing the fight to them, of seeing them at her feet in supplication before she –

_Screaming, crying, waking sobbing –_

Her village was desolate, broken. What remained of the ruins was precarious at best – no place for children to run or roam or laugh…

_Cascading, babbling, the crash of water on water –_

She sought the river, newly afraid of silence. The waterfall served as a raging backdrop to her thoughts as she viciously attacked a stubborn stain.

There'd been no laughter.

The girls sobbed themselves to sleep and spent the days cleaning for Master Mushin.

Haruo spent his waking time with his staff, battling Kohaku with a fierceness a boy his age should not possess as Kirara watched on, unwilling to leave her humans behind to be hunted like rabbits.

Miroku remained locked away for hours in meditation. All the better for him; the last time they'd conversed, she'd nearly blackened his eye.

"Life means suffering."

One of his "Four Noble Truths." Sango sneered at the thought. It was a lesson – _a truth_ – she did not need education in.

_Crying, dripping, drops joining unsalty others, sobs muted by the roar of water –_

She longed to hold him one more time…

She longed for _him_ to hold _her_ one more time…

Her family was fractured, broken…

And none of the skills she possessed were capable of bringing it back together again.

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Aftermath" was originally posted January 2, 2009

Word Count: 670

Prompt: "Skill"


	17. Coping

Coping

The kid seemed to have more heart than he knew what to do with.

'_How much pain has Haruo been through?'_

Miroku watched from across the room as Haruo shooed the girls off to bed after having made them stew with meat Hachi brought in. He wondered where the boy had learned to cook – then realized it was probably just one more chore taught to him at his grandfather's house.

Not for the first time, Miroku mourned the life his first son had been forced to live… and not for the last time, he allowed himself a moment to mourn for the son who did not get a chance.

'_Life means suffering,'_ he reminded himself. He closed his eyes and brought his hand forward in a gesture that was as soothing as it was escapist – just as Sango wandered into the room.

He didn't have to have his eyes open to know she was there, staring. He imagined her playing with the hem of her apron, opening her mouth and then closing it when she couldn't find the right words.

'_You are a coward,'_ he informed himself; acknowledging it and doing something about it were two different things. How could he burden his wife with his broken heart, his lost hopes, when she was in mourning as well?

'_Sorrow shared is sorrow halved.'_ Who had told him that? Mushin or a traveling monk? Either way… it rang in his head and wouldn't be chased out.

Miroku quirked open an eye and was about to speak up when Haruo came back into the room.

"Sango-okaa-sama, I made some dinner."

Sango blinked, staring down at the boy.

"It's still warm, would you like some?"

Sango forced a smile. "I would like that very much, Haruo. Thank you."

As Haruo dished up some food, Miroku took the time to unobtrusively study his wife. She was disheveled – hair awry, dirt matting the edges of her kosode – and smelled faintly of the polish she used on Hiraikotsu. _'She's been working out,'_ he realized, cringing a bit as he took in the tear tracks down her cheeks.

He ached to pull her into his arms. _'What if she blames me?'_

Ah, the root of the problem finally showed itself.

Since arriving, Miroku had barricaded himself in a room and meditated, trying to come to terms with the loss of his and Sango's son. Truths: "Life means suffering" and "the origin of suffering is attachment." Perhaps he was being punished for his ways when he was younger; maybe he just had to teach himself to let go so as to avoid future sorrows.

While he retreated, Sango had tried to turn to him. His recitation of the first truth sent her into a tizzy of justifiable anger; she had taken days to speak with him again.

Now as he wondered how he'd ever pushed her away, he also wondered how a little boy could have so much heart – and give such a large lesson just by living.

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Aftermath" was originally posted February 13, 2010

Word Count: 500

Prompt: "Heart"


	18. Facing The Future

Face The Future

"I can't do this anymore."

With five words, Sango knocked down all the walls between her and her silent husband.

"And I can't do this without you."

Miroku blinked. _'Do what?'_ The family remained isolated at Mushin's temple. Because of donations, they wanted for nothing; he pointed this out to her with no small amount of trepidation.

"But we do need something," she responded matter-of-factly, a hint of steel in her voice Miroku hadn't heard since the days of hunting Naraku… and Kohaku. "I want revenge."

Miroku's eyes widened and he was quite certain his mouth had fallen open. He couldn't lie and say he hadn't entertained similar thoughts… but to act on them?

It was obvious Sango had seen the reluctance in his eyes – but it wasn't enough to sway her.

"I want my life back – and I can't get that without knowing they won't come back for us later. I won't be ashamed of associating with our friends… and I won't be cowed into pretending I am."

Miroku could not argue; he just wasn't sure if this was the right path. _'The path to the end of suffering is self-improvement. Revenge is not the way…'_

But thoughts of the murderous bastards writhing in pain burned away some of his sorrow… and the freedom from that pain was a weight from his shoulders.

Mushin's lessons began a slow, twisting dance of corruption.

_'The third truth… suffering can be overcome by removing the cause. And the cause… those brutal thugs…'_

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Face The Future" was originally posted March 1, 2010

Word Count: 250

Prompt: "Sign"


	19. Alone

Alone

"_I can't do this without you."_

Her words echoed in his ears; they bounced back as his cries, the last things he'd said to her as the light faded from her eyes.

"_Don't leave me," he begged, pressing harder on the wet, sticky mess of blood, skin and leather on her chest. She let out a grunt and he winced with her pain. Still, he refused to let up the pressure, to let any more of that precious, life-giving liquid flow from her body._

"_I love you," she murmured weakly, her grasp on his wrist loosening with each labored breath. "I'm so sorry…"_

"_Don't apologize!"_

Miroku's hand clenched around his shakujou – the rings jangled a mournful tune as his fingers shook against the rising tide of his tears.

"_Go after them!"_

"_Not without you!"_

_Sango let out a choked laugh, coughing up crimson. "Miroku, if you think I'm going anywhere anymore, you're sadly mistaken." Her dark eyes dimmed and unfocused before she appeared to wrench strength from somewhere unknown._

_Miroku reflected for a moment that if he could give any to her, he gladly would._

_Sango's eyebrows lowered in a near-glare; Miroku despaired as the red that should have flushed her cheeks in anger was blanched away, blood draining from her face and out through her chest. "Don't let them get escape!"_

_Her insistence grated upon his last nerve; he snapped. "I am _not_ going to give in to a petty need for vengeance and leave you alone to d-"_

_He couldn't say it._

_If he said it, it'd be true._

Violet eyes closed, then shot frantically back open.

Every time they shut, the gruesome image appeared: his wife, skin bleached white by blood loss and stained red by the hand of a heartless son of a bitch.

"Why?" he demanded suddenly, falling to his knees. "Why? After all this time… fighting Naraku, surviving being buried alive and a battle for your brother's life… _why now?_ We should have been happy together!"

"_I'm sorry," he whispered, aware that he was wasting the precious little time they had left together being angry with her. "Sango… you can't-"_

"_Take good care of the girls," Sango interrupted. "And tell Haruo that he will make a remarkable tajiya."_

_Miroku swallowed. To deny Sango her last wish… and yet, if none traveled that particular path anymore, would the family live longer?_

_As always, she knew him better than he knew himself. "They m-m-must know how to defend themselves… y-you know that." Her words began to weaken as she shivered from cold._

"_Sango…" The eloquent monk was reduced to mere syllables. "I can't do this without you…"_

"_Kiss me?"_

_He lowered his lips to hers, inhaled her dying breath and clutched her to him as though he could revive her with his feebly beating, broken heart._

"Houshi-sama." A hand fell on Miroku's shoulder, stronger than the monk would give the younger man credit for until he'd stumbled back, Sango in his arms. "The bandits have been discovered south of here. Their leader is with them."

While Miroku could barely hold himself together, Kohaku handled his sister's death with unwavering stoicism.

He wondered if Kohaku cried himself to sleep at night, in the depths of Mushin's temple where nobody else could see or hear.

_Flames licked Sango's body in an intimate dance, and Miroku mourned to recall that he would never again revel in that particular pleasure._

_Kagome wept, and even InuYasha appeared teary-eyed. The girls sobbed openly; Haruo bit his lower lip and stared at the burning body unblinkingly. Miroku found the boy's trance a bit disturbing and turned away, wishing for once that he did not have to be the strong one, realizing only now how much weight Sango's strong and capable shoulders had borne. That weight now smothered him, held him down when all he wanted to do was burn with her._

_He remembered her insistence inside Naraku, during the last battle… it appeared they would not die together after all._

_Surrounded by friends and family…_

_Miroku was alone._

Miroku was alone; Kohaku had left while he was lost in ruminations.

"Was it only a season ago that I let you down?" Leaning forward, Miroku reverently laid his prayer beads at the stone that marked his wife's final resting place. "These remind me of you, you know. They're beautiful and held such strength. I always feared that despite their holy backing, one day they would snap and my kazaana would swallow us all whole. They never did… and you never broke, either."

Miroku sobered; gathered his scattered emotions and rose.

He had a mission to attend to.

---

"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"Alone" was originally posted March 28, 2010

Word Count: 773

Prompt: "Charm"


	20. End of the Road

End of the Road

The moment he stepped forward, staff swinging with deadly intent, he knew how it was going to end.

It were as though she stood next to him – his wife, his partner, his strength and life – as he brought the length of the pole down on one bandit's back, a sickening crack echoing in his ears.

Miroku moved to the next closest one as though moving through sludge; it were as though something else moved his body for him, as though he were on the sidelines watching his body go through the motions.

This wasn't fighting – this was karma. For him and for the bandits whose lives he now sought and snuffed out, one by one.

This was living – this was death in its most brutal, honest form. There was no room for life in this darkening clearing. From the men coming toward him only to fall at his feet to the haunting specter of his one true love beside him, guiding his hand, there was only death.

Miroku had left his life behind him, with the most honorable hanyou Miroku had the pleasure of knowing, and the brightest ray of sunshine to grace his life since Sango's passing.

The girls had sobbed, fearful that, just like their okaa-sama, otou-sama would not be returning.

Haruo simply stared, eyes following as the man exited his life. He _knew_ Miroku would not be returning.

'_Was it really two years ago,'_ Miroku wondered in the recesses of his mind, the part screaming to stop the bloodshed, the violence, the path of destruction he'd set foot on, _'that Haruo came home with me? That I resigned to be a better monk, a better role-model for my children?'_

Miroku cleaved a path through the lesser men, making his way unerringly through the rabble to the one who laughed, recognizing the defeated lone warrior as the husband of the brazen woman he'd torn down more than a year ago.

All paths led to this moment. His noble Eight-Fold Path crumbled at his feet, leading him into youkai-infested woods. All he'd known and grown to accept had taken on a twisted perversion, a darkness that encouraged him to move forward even as he acknowledged that karma would cycle around – as he brought his wife's killers to their knees, he would be struck down himself.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

Life without Sango had ceased to have meaning. He always had something pushing him – his father's death, the kazaana, the need to avenge Sango's family, and now the need to avenge Sango herself. Living for his children as Kagome had begged seemed far too empty – his mind had twisted in on itself, leaving him fearing at night what his children would learn from him given the opportunity.

Best to leave them behind, with those uncorrupted by hate and malice.

Those sinister feelings rushed through him now, pushing him harder to swing the sharpened head of his staff through flesh, muscle, blood and bone. His _right views, right intentions_ pushed him forward – understanding of how things truly right, the commitment to better himself by pushing to and through the end, through his own skin and skeleton into the end that awaited him.

Miroku choked on blood streaming from his tongue as his teeth clamped down; a sword bit into his ribs. He would not sully this moment with malicious words – Mushin's lessons on _right speech_ beat through him. A dark chuckle was all that could escape his lips, amusement that he would cast back on lessons of ethical conduct while moving through an ever-thinning horde of vicious men like death on legs.

His _livelihood_ had ended months ago; since acquiring his new staff, he'd done nothing to draw attention to himself. He refrained from dealing at all, relying thankfully on InuYasha and Kagome to feed and clothe him in return for educating their young child. He stayed clear of sake – though drinking his pain away beckoned each night – and refused to partake in other women.

All his _efforts_ went toward one goal: his revenge. The same energy that he directed toward educating his students fueled waking nightmares as he lie in bed, ghastly images of his retribution playing out in his mind. As they solidified, he'd drawn away from his family, afraid of inflicting the darkness upon them.

Only four men remained between Miroku and his goal now. His focus narrowed and two attackers fell to the ground. He found himself in combat with one while the leader wavered, backpedaling to make good his escape.

Miroku reined in his runaway thoughts, his memories of the past and hopes for the immediate future and with perfect control, removed his enemy's head from his shoulders.

One remained, and Miroku's _right mindfulness_ asserted itself. His body, emotions, state of mind and awareness of the things around him narrowed to the clear path between his life and death – his weapon and Sango's murderer.

_Concentration_ focused on the only wholesome thought left – to be clean and clean the world of the scum that stood before him, quaking in badly-sewn leather boots. With this death and his own, an unnatural shadow would be raised from the land.

He never remembered the final swing – his beautiful wife, flickering on the edge of his perception, led the fatal stroke.

He was unaware of the bite of the sword in his back, slicing across his body as he followed through on his own stroke and fell beside the body of the man who killed his love.

All he knew was peace, the lifting of a weight, the sigh of his final breath…

And the fleeting knowledge that his suffering had come to a selfish, violent… and entirely satisfactory end.

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"The Eight-Fold Path" is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

"End of the Road" was originally posted April 17, 2010

Word Count: 952

Prompt: "Karma"


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